After Witch
by Rioja
Summary: Witch does not live forever. This is the story of what becomes of Daemon Sadi, her lover whose life must continue after she is gone. Will he ever truly live again? Please R&R. Rating subject to change. UPDATED!
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: The worlds of the Blood do not belong to me, sadly, and neither do the original characters. All hail Anne Bishop.

**Chapter One**

The Keep

"Daemon?" Karla's voice, raspy with old age, called to him from Jaenelle's bedroom. He didn't move. A few seconds later, he heard soft footfalls and looked up to see his brother, Lucivar, standing in the doorway, his normally stoic face contorted with emotion.

"Come on Bastard, your needed."

Daemon slowly got up and felt his body scream in protest, not only from the sudden movement but from a keen reluctance to go into the connecting room. He had been sitting on the consort's bed for the past nine hours, his head cradled in his hands, ever since the healers had kicked him out of Jeanelle's room. They had said he was too emotional and would interfere with their work, which was more true than they could have ever imagined. Jaenelle had been bedridden for the past two weeks after collapsing during dinner. She still hadn't woken up.

He had known this day would come eventually, had known it would devastate him, perhaps even kill him, but he had hoped for more time…just a little more time. She was only ninety…even the short-lived races usually lived past one hundred. Of course, none had ever put their body through as much pain and exertion as Jaenelle had. It was no wonder her body was failing sooner than expected. But that still didn't ease the pain.

He walked slowly towards the door, each step harder to take than the last. When he reached Lucivar, he felt his brother's hand clasp his shoulder in an unsuccessful attempt at comfort. Daemon shrugged him off and kept going, trying not to let the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes overtake him. He stopped in the doorway of Jaenelle's room, unsure if he could take another heart wrenching step. But when he saw her, his love, his wife, his Queen, laying so serenely on the bed, he could not turn away. He heard others come in to the room behind him, but he paid them no notice. Sitting on the bed next to her, he took her hand in his and simply looked at her, drinking her in with his eyes as a man starved for water drinks the last drop from his canteen.

"How much longer?" He asked, not taking his eyes off of Witch.

"It…it would be cruel to keep her alive much longer. There is no more we can do." Karla said softly, her voice breaking with emotion. He nodded slowly, comprehension finally sinking in that this would be the last time he ever saw her, the last time he ever touched her.

He tore his eyes away from Jaenelle for just a moment, to see if everyone was in the room that should be. His father, the High Lord of Hell and Jaenelle's adopted parent, was standing on the opposite side of the bed, his jaw clenched tightly and tears silently rolling down his face. Lucivar stood behind Daemon, his hand once more resting on his shoulder, and his wife and son stood with him. This time, Daemon didn't shrug him off. The First Circle, all that had lived this long, stood along the wall. Haskavi, Kaelas' great-grandson, lay at the foot of the huge bed, his giant body sagging with grief. And finally, Draca, the Keep's Seneschal and Lorn's Queen, stood at the foot of the bed, her reptilian eyes staring intently at the Witch who had cleansed the Blood. A few were missing who should have been present, but nothing could be done about it.

Looking at Karla, he nodded once and then turned back to Jaenelle, letting his eyes rove over her frail body. Her skin, wrinkled and paper thin, was white, and her breathing labored. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the healers break the healing web, felt their Craft being drawn back to them. Ever so slowly, her body seemed to relax against the bed and her breathing became increasingly less frequent. Sobs he refused to voice racked his body, and he bent his head over her hand, kissing it and whispering, "I love you sweetheart, I love you." He heard her take one large, ragged breath, and he knew it was her last. The tears he had held back until then coursed down his face, and his body shook with sobs. Someone was calling his name, and at first he didn't listen. But that voice…the voice he knew he would never hear again, whispered inside his head.

_Daemon_… she said, her voice a soft, loving caress.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

Author's Note: I am soooooo sorry for not updating sooner! Please forgive my horrible ineptness! Anyway, thanks for all the reviews! I hope you like this chapter:)

**Chapter Two**

The Keep

_Daemon_…she said, her voice a soft, loving caress.

His name sounded over and over in his head, and with each repetition he heard her voice die away into the darkness. No matter how he tried to block it from his mind, no matter how many times he told himself to forget, the voice came back and kept the wound fresh. It had been a week since the death of Kaeleer's Heart, and he felt sure that if time did not speed up, he would die of grief before the month was out.

"Daemon."

It took him a moment to realize that someone not in his imagination had called to him. He tore his eyes away from the portrait of Witch and glanced towards the entrance of the gallery. Tersa, his mother, stood in the doorway, her body clad in semi-clean clothes and her wild hair hanging down to her waist. In her eyes there lay the sadness that he himself felt, the sadness that threatened to drive him over the edge of sanity. During the past week he had felt himself sliding threateningly close to the edge of the Twisted Kingdom. When he had thought Jaenelle dead after she had cleansed the realms, he had only been a small step from loosing himself to the broken world. But there had been hope then. A small, barely discernable grain of hope that had saved him. Now, however, no such hope existed. He couldn't console himself with hints of her return. Jaenelle wasn't coming back. Not this time. Not ever.

"The flowers are blooming." Tersa said as she walked towards him. Taking his hand, she pulled him along behind her. "Come see."

Too lost in his own grief to argue, he reluctantly followed as she pulled him from the gallery containing the portrait of Jaenelle. The walk to her small cottage was long, but Daemon barely noticed. Not even the soothing sounds of the forest reached him. In the small, sane corner of his mind, he realized how ironic the situation was. The most dangerous man in all the realms couldn't even muster up enough interest in his own survival to take stock of his surroundings. A few months ago, he would have known, almost immediately, who and what was in the forest around him. And now…now he simply looked as his feet, concentrating fully on putting one in front of the other. After all, what did it matter, really? Nothing mattered anymore…Jaenelle was gone, and she was the only thing that he had lived for.

"Daemon."

He ignored her. Talking wasn't very high on his to-do list.

"Daemon!"

Annoyed, he looked up just in time to stop himself from running into her. Looking at him with eyes that understood too much, Tersa reached out placed her hand on the small of his back and gently nudged him forward as she would a child.

"We're here. You must see the flowers."

Irritated with himself and embarrassed that Tersa felt he needed coddling, Daemon stepped away from her and saw that they were, in fact, standing in front of her cottage. He made to enter, but stopped in surprise at Tersa's startled exclamation.

"Where are the flowers? I left the them here, and now they're gone!" Pulling nervously at her tangled hair, she turned a full circle, peering at the edges of the clearing in front of her house. Her search was fruitless, and when she turned back to Daemon, her expression was one of great sadness.

"They must have run away." Tears filled her golden eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks. "You n…needed to see the fl…flowers." She sobbed.

Kara, the young, bouncy hearth witch who lived in the cottage with Tersa, ran out of the small house and immediately moved to put her arms around Tersa. Glaring at Daemon, she said between lips stuck in a disapproving frown, "What did you say to her?"

The leash on his temper, already frayed, came close to snapping. He snarled at her and felt a moment of satisfaction when she jumped and refused to meet his gaze. For a moment, he felt slightly ashamed of his hostile behavior. He had worked for years on burying the part of himself that demanded violence and pain. In fact, for the past few years, he had felt almost…peaceful. But no more. From the day Jaenelle had collapsed, he had felt the veneer of civility that had allowed him to live among others companionably slip slowly away and had felt himself become increasingly aggressive. Logically, he knew it was because the one person who could hold the leash, who could calm his temper, was gone. Logically, he knew that the people he felt animosity towards had done nothing to deserve his anger. But logic, when faced with his anger and pain, seemed no more than an annoyance.

Ignoring the woman who was rubbing Tersa's back soothingly, Daemon took his mother's hand in his and asked, "Are the flowers in the garden?" Slowly, Tersa's miserable expression gave way to one of innocent joy.

"Yes! They must have gone to the garden! They like it there." Brushing off Kara, she pulled Daemon towards the small garden that lay on the other side of the cottage. When they arrived, Tersa led him towards a patch of flowers shaded by an old willow tree. Beneath the tree a large assortment of pastel colored blossoms grew in a semi-circle. In the middle of the semi-circle grew three white roses, their petals still halfway closed. Why she wanted him to see flowers that had only bloomed halfway, he had no idea. Pointing at them, Tersa said, "Aren't they beautiful?" She paused then, looking up at him as if she expected some sort of comment.

"They're lovely Tersa, but they aren't finished blooming." He replied, quickly loosing interest. Roses were pretty, yes, but he wasn't in the mood to admire flowers.

Clicking her tongue at him, Tersa shook her head and admonished, "Some things are beautiful in all their phases." She paused again then added, "Jaenelle helped me plant these." At the mention of her name, Daemon's gut clenched as if he'd been hit. "She still lives, you know."

Shock, hope, denial, and fear all hit Daemon at once, tearing through his body and leaving him feeling hollow inside when they dissipated. "Tersa please, I can't…Jaenelle is dead." She silenced him by placing a finger on his mouth.

"No. She lives. As long as what she planted still grows, she lives." Taking his chin in her hand, she forced his head down so that her eyes met his. The look in her eyes was not that of a woman lost in the Twisted Kingdom, but of one who's wisdom far outdistanced his own, and Daemon knew they were no longer talking about flowers, but of something of much greater importance.

Letting him go, she turned and walked back towards the cottage, leaving him alone in the garden. Sinking to his knees, he simply stared at the three roses, tears of some emotion he could not name running down his face.

* * *

He stayed there for hours, simply gazing at the flowers, thinking. When he finally came out of his trance, the sun was sinking below the horizon and the air was beginning to cool as night came on. As he slowly got to his feet, he winced as his legs screamed in complaint. Sitting in one position for such a long time hadn't been the smartest thing he'd ever done, but he didn't care. For the first time in the past week, he felt some measure of peace. He knew that by the next day it would be gone, but for now, he wanted to savor the moment. He walked slowly towards the cottage, feeling suddenly weary, as if he'd spent the day running instead of sitting. When he entered, he found Tersa sitting at the kitchen table talking animatedly with Kara about something or another. Content just to watch, he leaned against the doorway and placed his hand in his trouser pockets, simply observing. 

He didn't get to observe for long, however, because Tersa quickly noticed his arrival and herded him into a chair. Kara, uncomfortable with him in the room, quickly got up began bustling around the kitchen, polishing things that didn't need polishing and sweeping floors already cleaned earlier that day. Tersa stood next to the cold box, not opening it, just looking at the door as if contemplating something. After glancing toward the wine cabinet a few times, she seemed to make some sort of decision and opened the cold box and took out a glass bottle of milk. Getting a mug from the cupboard, she filled it with the milk and set it in front of him.

"Drink." She commanded, and glared at him until he took a small, tentative sip. He hadn't had milk in over a century, and he was unsurprised to find he still hated the taste. When he didn't move to take another drink, Tersa clucked and muttered until, rolling his eyes, he downed the whole glass in one gulp. Grimacing, he placed the empty mug on the table and gazed at her quizzically.

"Happy?" He asked, one eyebrow raised sarcastically.

Nodding, Tersa smiled at him and pulled him to his feet. After giving him a hug he didn't know he needed, Tersa ushered him out the door, muttering something about how he needed to get home before it got dark because he could get lost in the forest. Not bothering to comment on her lack of confidence in his directional abilities, Daemon kissed her cheek and said, "I'll come back in a few days."

"Good. And tell your brother what I told you. He needs to know." Nodding, Daemon started on the well-trod path back to the Keep, knowing that tomorrow, the peaceful feeling he had tonight would be gone, but that the sorrow would be no longer be crippling when it took hold of him once more.


End file.
